


King Again

by Iridium (IridiumFlames)



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Gen, M/M, jane is barely in this I'm sorry, she gets left out of so many things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:37:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IridiumFlames/pseuds/Iridium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today you didn't wake up empty, and that was a start.</p><p> Dirk dealing with depression in a healthy way and Jake helping him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King Again

**Author's Note:**

> _You've got it all_  
>  _You lost your mind in the sound_  
>  _There's so much more_  
>  _You can reclaim your crown_  
>  _You're in control_  
>  _Rid of the monsters inside your head_  
>  _Put all your faults to bed_  
>  _You can be king again_  
>  _-Lauren Aquilina, King_  
>  This is based on [this](http://m3mel0vingfuck.tumblr.com/post/57664004967) post, there are more notes at the bottom also those lyrics are kind of ripped off another picture of Dirk I saw but [the song's](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iqf6aDclgSk) good; also much thanks to hypercrotch/Alyssa/Joanne for beta reading this, you're a sweet and a great friend

Today you didn’t wake up empty, and that was a start. Usually, before you had admitted to yourself what it was, it set in almost immediately after getting out of bed, and you fumbled through the day in a half-conscious haze. Admittedly, most people didn’t notice; you’re intelligent enough that you could fake conversations and react to most situations flawlessly, and “getting behind” on your work had meant moving at a speed normal for other people. To an outside observer, nothing was abnormal at all. But most of the time, on a day when it was bad, you used to get by solely on autopilot.

Roxy notices, sometimes. She’s entirely sobered up, and you are proud of her; your chiding must’ve paid off, or more likely, she did it without your help at all. She and Jane are the reason you even made it to a doctor to begin with. Without them, your bad days would just be your bad everything, with no intermissions. Half the time you mostly felt normal. But she notices when your responses over PesterChum seem too scripted, or when they aren’t scripted enough, and the bleaker part of what you say gets through your innumerable filters. If she wasn’t so understanding about it, you’d regret giving her a key. But every time you accidentally let it slip that you haven’t left your bed that day, a few hours later you can hear laughter coming from your kitchen, with the rustling of grocery bags carrying Fanta and more sympathy than you deserve. Sometimes she’ll coax you into drawing her. Just for practice, to give your mind something else to do, and you’ve always been grateful for that; always unable to repay her for caring when you couldn’t.

You’ve learned that there’s nothing you can do when it gets really bad. You take your medications every day with almost inhumanly precise timing, but on bad days they just don’t do much. On a bad day, it settles over you like a cold black ink, making everything you touch slippery and less real, and no matter how much you want to scream with frustration, it only seems to come out as crying. 

Roxy and Jane can’t help much then and they’ve learnt not to ask; but bless his heart, Jake keeps trying. He doesn’t pick up on the subtleties of what you say over typing or on the phone, even though you talk to him more than either of the girls. But you think he and Roxy are conspiring against (for?) you, because when you have to tell her not to bother, that today isn’t a day that can be saved, Jake shows up, bringing nothing more than a willingness to stay with you. He’ll tell you ridiculous stories with perfect endings that are half made-up and half just his own, impossibly golden view of life. By the time you’re falling asleep and he leaves for the night, your mind is less blurry.

It’s been almost two years since you went to the doctor for that first time, since your friends first started doing this. This weird thing that involved hauling you outside when you really didn’t want to move, or visiting you when it was bad and just talking, without a goal. It seemed to help, even if you hadn’t seen the point at first. Your therapist even says you’re doing better too. Ms. Opheee is an angel; you hadn’t completely realized how much you were sabotaging your own thoughts until she showed you. And you’ve finally figured out the dosage on your medications so they feel less like crutches and more like vitamins, something that regulates you instead of holding you up entirely. You’ve kept up with your various online businesses, even branching out into a partnership with Roxy’s programmers at Jake’s suggestion, and you’d had enough profits from last month to spare a week of pure vacation, of which you are currently taking full advantage. 

Today you woke up the closest to clear-minded you’ve been in years, and since Jake is spending the whole week with you, you had the rare joy of watching him wake up by your side. 

“Well, good morning, starshine. This particular section of earth is all kinds of thrilled to greet you. You sleep well? I did for once, and it’d be the pinnacle of whack if you weren’t doing the same.” 

He squirms next to you happily, looking into space for a moment before smiling at you. “Wonderfully, thanks. Want to go get breakfast somewhere? I’ve certainly nowhere to be, and there’s a new bakery just a few streets down if you’re interested.”

The usual frantic flurry of “what-ifs” from your head is silent, and you agree with a smile. Both of you crawl out of bed, getting dressed and cleaned up before wandering down the apartment stairs, and down the block, to the nearby bakery. He pays for both of you (“You’re on vacation! Don’t worry about it!”) and you decide to take your food to the city park, despite the cold. Jake digs out a Danish from the bakery bag and hands you your muffin as you settle onto a piece of playground equipment, swinging your legs idly above the ground and leaning against some large piece of plastic. Finally figuring out how to hold his pastry, he grins cheekily at you and waggles his eyebrows, which you just have to laugh at. 

“So! I have nothing to do, and you have nothing to do, and we’re not wanting for places to go in a huge city like this,” he says, looking at you more seriously. “I figured I’d treat you, for today, so whatever you want is game by me. Although if I can make a suggestion, the museum’s having an exhibit on Egypt and I’ve been meaning to go? Only if you’re up for it, I mean. There’ll be lots of people, and all that, and I’m really alright with dinner and a movie, if you’d like that instead,” and he’s babbling now and staring worriedly at his pastry so you kiss him.

“Dude, calm down. You really need to stop catering to whatever shit I have going on, as much as I appreciate it. It’s not inherently helpful to any degree, and the sentiment is nice, but I don’t need that.” You’re not sure that you need sentiment at all, but your therapist says you’re working on that, because everyone’s allowed some weakness, and on your good days you’re inclined to believe her. 

You give Jake a small smile. “We’re already at a park, alright? Any plans you’ve got in your hypothetical pipeline won’t upset the not-so-delicate balance of my mental state if we’ve already gotten outside with no delays.”

So you both take the subway to the museum. The people in the train don’t bother you, and you’re holding Jake’s hand, because tactile feedback from other humans is integral to a healthy psyche. Also because it’s Jake, and he makes you happy. You get a little edgy around the museum ticket booth, but it’s not bad. Jake gets the tickets while you wait near the doors, speculating where pectoral muscles used to attach on a pterosaur skeleton hanging high above both of you. 

Once you’re in the museum halls, Jake excitedly half-explains something about the Egyptian exhibit he wanted to see, pulling you into the temporary hall. As you enter the rows of dimly lit displays, information surrounds you, and you’re delightfully at home. Later, you both admire the dinosaur skeletons- partial replications, because fossils damage easily after so much time, but are much too amazing to hide away completely. He listens to everything you tell him, gently squeezing your hand when you get a little lost in your head. He’s just reminding you, social interaction is two people in tandem, not one person running their mind into exhaustion. Both of you find something to appreciate in the insect displays and the sea life section, and after going through a children’s exhibit on the water cycle you have to stop to write down a new idea on a McDonald’s napkin. Jake makes you stop writing so you can eat, and on impulse you poke him with a ketchupy fry, startling yourself into laughing and making him laugh as well. 

Wandering back into the museum, the two of you make your way to its small movie theatre, which is showing a film about alien planets. You have to pay for Jake’s ticket because he’s halfway into the theatre already, and gladly sit through the comically speculative film for the look on his face. He looks happy, so you kiss him, and he smiles into your mouth, so you kiss him again, and again, and he twines his fingers with yours and your mind is clear. You walk out of the theatre grinning and holding hands, and muddle around in the museum gift shop for a while before catching an early train back to your apartment. This one’s got more people than the morning train, but it’s still not bad. They’re just people, and the numb feeling crowds give you doesn’t come today.

After an interminable amount of stairs, you make it to your apartment, wiggling out of your jacket and moving to the kitchen while Jake struggles with his boots. You rummage through the freezer, calling back at him as he flops onto your sofa.

“You down for frozen lasagna? Not that I can’t cook, but it is my vacation, and I’m thinking some serious cuddles are in order after that train ride. It’s like heating wasn’t even a consideration when they designed the subway.”

“D’you think you could do it better, then? And sure, lasagna’s perfect.”

“If it wasn’t mind-blowing levels of unimportant, I could redesign the whole subway, but I have better things to do.” 

“I’ve no doubt you do. Now put that in the oven and get over here, will you?” Jake looks over the back of the couch at you, and you finish opening the lasagna, jumping over the couch into his arms while you wait for the oven to heat up. 

“So the oven’s heating up, which should take about 26 minutes, and then we have to actually cook it, but if you want we can make sommmfhh.” Oh. You’re being kissed now. Not that you mind, but you were in the middle of a train of thought here; it’s important to keep those firmly on their intended tracks, otherwise it’s a slippery slope to overthinking, and everyone knows modern diesel engines don’t use steering wheels, so there’s no chance you’ll get back on course- Jake’s still kissing you, and also saying something. You decide to pay attention to that.

“Hey.” He’s nosing at your forehead softly. “You smiled a lot today. I liked that.” You blink at him. You hadn’t really noticed, but you had, hadn’t you? Everything about your day had been clear, and real. You should’ve been more alert than ever, but of all the things you had overlooked that Jake noticed, he liked it when you smiled. 

“Thanks. I liked it too, you know? Even I’ll admit it’s nice, being- it’s nice.” You pull Jake closer and bury your face happily- happily- in his warm chest, feeling his hands running through your hair. You weren’t finished getting better, by any measure. Ms. Opheee had said, repeatedly, that a lot of your mental things needed more than a few years to fix, and you still needed your medication. But today, you weren’t running exhaustingly fast, or oppressively slow; just good. And that’s a start.

**Author's Note:**

> a lot of the symptoms were based on my own experience so apologies if they seem oddly described/  
> find a therapist that works for you kiddies the right person can work wonders/  
> holy dicks I hope I wrote Dirk right, if anybody has feedback or critique **please help me** because he's a cacophony of knowledge and mental problems/  
>  can you tell I love museums/  
> also I love the cold/  
> everyone always has them eating pizza so I substituted another tomato-and-wheat-based Italian food/  
> gosh frickity dang this is shorter than I thought, I'm out peace y'all


End file.
